The Pillars of Sand

by Mark T. Barnes

  “And now you know,” the Herald said.

  Indris leaped at the Herald, pushing him back. He pointed at the egg. “No! That’s not me! I was born, not—”

  “Made?” the Herald said softly. “Is that which is born not also made, a miracle of elements coming together to create life? In this case, your parents sought to take away the randomness, and give to the world what it needed.”

  Numb, Indris slumped to the ground, and held his head in his hands. The answer to the question of why he was never told was apparent. How do you tell a child such a thing? Indris barked a laugh. How do you tell an adult?

  “You are no different than what you were before you knew, Indris.” The Herald’s many voices, each laid over the other, were gentle.

  “The children of the Feignings were all massively flawed,” Indris replied. He looked at his hands and thought of the things he had done with them. “And now there’s an Awakened one! Ancestor’s teeth, I almost underwent Unity! Feigning children were all mad, power hungry, tragic things. And they all died the way they lived—by violence, brought down like rabid animals.”

  “But you are none of that. Of all the children of Feigning, you were made by ones who saw into the heart of creation. They understood the mind of Īa, heard its lullabies, nurtured it, and protected it. Even Malde-ran’s Great Heresy was done out of desperate love, and the need to protect her people. She never intended what happened. Understand that Awakening is about understanding, nurturing, and compassion. The power Awakening provides was never intended to cause harm.”

  “I understand power well enough, and that it’s only as benign as the person using it.”

  “But you fear it,” the Herald said. “You respect it. You’ve never sought it out for its own purpose, or yours—

  “That’s a lie. You were here with me when I made the decision to Awaken myself so that I could open that damned vault. That’s as much for my own purposes as you can get.”

  “And even learning what you did, you turned your back on an incredible power. You are what Sedefke and Malde-ran promised us. A light that we all could follow.” Indris cast a glance at his Scholar’s Lantern. The Herald caught the gesture. “Yes! Of all the things you could have made, you made something that shows truth. You need to trust in yourself, Indris. Knowing what you are, why and how you are, is one thing. But you define who you are.”

  Do I? Or will madness and hunger for power shape me? Indris felt sick. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

  “However you deem appropriate. Who else can react for you?”

  Half-truths, events, and conversations fell into place. Indris looked inward at the ephemeral walls of the Anamnesis Maze around the kernel of his mind, a barricade to memories kept from him. Even Awakened, the shadows of the maze were bewildering, hinting at a mind more vast than his own. Was it Sedefke who had done this thing?

  Sedefke … Father. Malde-ran … Mother. One vanished for centuries, the other centuries dead but not in her grave, the greatest heretic of the Avān. The last—and current—Mahj. And Indris was her heir. No wonder the Sēq wanted to control him so badly, and Ariskander had tried to make Indris his heir. It would have been an easy step from rahn, to Asrahn, to … He let the thought drop.

  Indris rose unsteadily to his feet, reflection rippling in the Herald’s mask. He reached into the vault and took out the disk: another riddle that needed answers. The Feigning Egg he left in place. The vault door restructured itself, leaving no sign Indris had ever been there.

  “What will you do with what you know?” the Herald asked. “There are many who would seek to raise you as the Mahj. Others, such as the Soul Traders, would relish the chance to tear your secrets and your power from you.”

  “I don’t know,” Indris said. There were too many secrets. What else had he seen that required his memories to be locked away so thoroughly? How much danger was he, and those close to him, in? “I’ll not be yelling it from the rooftops, if that’s what you want to hear.”

  “Such is a wise course, I would think. Where will you go?”

  Indris thought of Mari, curled in their bed, and her words to him.

  “Somewhere warm, where the sun shines, I don’t have to wear much, and can both think and worry less.”

  It took seconds to translocate himself to the Manufactory, where the completed Skylark waited. He started the spools and wheels spinning, and flew her out of the Manufactory and into the night sky. When he reached altitude, Indris folded space and went back to where he could have origins of his choosing.

  The late afternoon sun showed a happy face as family and friends gathered at the Lotus House, above the Garden of Stones, to say farewell to the hallowed dead. Snow glittered like diamonds on a white carpet across the vale, and the sound of horn and pipe, sonesette and voice, echoed in a heartbreaking paean. Every tear was a tribute. Every smile, and laugh, and hug, and kiss, in honor of those who suffered no longer, but dwelled in the peace of those who had gone before.

  Throughout the morning, the Master of the Dead had observed the rituals, Indris and Mari among those who had born witness. They had melted the amber for the Reliquary Masks. Etched the names of their dead on slivers of jade. All except Ekko’s remains had been laid to rest in alabaster for their journey home, where they would be planted like flowers in fields of ash. Ekko had been bathed, his fur brushed. The fortune-coins were taken from his mane and replaced with colored beads and tokens that spoke of the greatness of his heart, his honor, his courage, and his deeds. Kembe, the High Patriarch of the Tau-se prides, had sworn to return Ekko to his people, with all the glory and ceremony a hero deserved. Indris held the silk bag with Ekko’s fortune-coins in his hand, a gift from Kembe to those Ekko had chosen to spend his last days with.

  Indris held Mari close and thought of those they had lost: Ekko, Hayden, and Omen. Bensaharēn. Nazarafine had lost her fight with her illness, and passed away in the twilight hours of the morning, leaving a bereft Osman in her place. Ariskander. Vahineh and her Family, the Great House of Selassin, at an end. The long list of dead counselors of the Teshri, and the warriors who had fought for ideals on both sides. The innocents who had lived in times that should never have been allowed to pass, and died for no good reason. Sende was supposed to have protected them, the warrior-caste and the upper-castes sworn to ensure sende was observed. So few had failed so many. Yet eyes had been opened, and questions asked. The world would not be the same for any of them.

  For Mari, there was the combined grief and guilt at the loss of her father, as well as her friends. No matter what Corajidin had done, Mari had tried her best to save the father she loved. By her own tearful, drunken admission in the shallows of the morning light, that man had died long ago. The Corajidin who had died was somebody she barely knew. In that, she and Indris shared a common loss.

  There was joy to be had. Neva and Yago had been released from their beds, brought back from the brink of death by Femensetri’s will until healers could attend, still much the worse for wear. Ajo stood guard over them, expression fierce. Belamandris and Sanojé stood together, yet now there were many who spoke with them, and smiled, and pressed their hands to brows, lips, and hearts in gratitude for what they had done. Morne and Kyril were hand in hand, battered, bruised, but alive.

  Rosha and Siamak, Ziaire and Teymoud, along with their allies in the Teshri, talked quietly among themselves. Rosha gestured for Indris to join them more than once, but he held his drink up in salute, smiled, and remained where he was. Femensetri, too, had tried to engage Indris, but he had avoided her, uncertain of what to say now that he had the context of the truth.

  Shar stood on unsteady legs, her eyes a vivid orange in her grief. She had tried to sing her loss away, but her voice had betrayed her at the last, and she had mouthed the words to a song only she knew. Indris and Mari let the tears flow as they took Shar in their arms and guided the recuperating woman to a couch.

  “I think Ekko would want you to have these.” Indris c
urled Shar’s fingers around the bag of fortune-coins. Shar held them to her face for a silent moment. Then she laughed, and wiped her eyes.

  “He’d not want us to be sad, would he?” she asked. “He died the way he wanted, in service to others, his friends at his side.”

  “There’s no sin in tears, Shar.” Indris leaned down to kiss her brow. “I think Ekko would understand. He knows who you are, and loves you for it. As do I.”

  Shar flung her arms about Indris’s neck and held tight. She looked at Indris and Mari with a sweet melancholy. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Indris said. Shar’s expression fell at the admission. Mari nudged Indris with her hip and nodded for him to say more. “But we’ll not be gone forever. And there’s one more gift I have for you that may make us feel like we’re a little closer.”

  Indris and Mari helped a bemused Shar to her feet. They walked from the Lotus House and clambered into a carriage. Indris whispered direction to the driver and for the entire journey resisted Shar’s question, repeated almost every other minute, as to whether they were there yet. At one point Mari put her hands over her ears. When that did not work, Mari struggled with Shar in an effort to put her hand over her mouth. The two women laughed, rocking back and forth in the carriage, until Shar bit Mari’s hand. Mari looked outraged, then broke into a smile as Shar took Mari’s arms, leaned into her, and forced Mari into a hug that she did not try to escape from.

  The carriage came to a halt, and the three friends climbed out. Indris gave the driver a handful of silver rings, more money than he would make in a year, and bid the thankful driver farewell. They stood at the gates to the Royal Skydock, high up on Star Crown Mountain. The air was cold and crisp, stands of pine trees and carved alabaster screens protecting visitors from the wind. The Wanderer sat at rest on a nearby platform.

  “You’re leaving now?” Shar gasped. “No! Surely you can stay another few days?”

  “We can’t,” Mari said. “The Teshri is driving us insane with their overtures. I know they think they’re being kind, but I will literally stab somebody if I don’t get some peace.”

  “Literally?” Indris asked.

  “Want to try me?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Indris took Shar’s hand and led her across a small bridge, through a water garden that was more ice than water, toward smaller platforms of the skydock.

  At the center of the platform was the Skylark. Shar clapped when she saw it, admiring the graceful avian and Seethe-inspired lines. She ran her hands over the metallic feathers and stood on her toes to look at the pilot’s station.

  “You did it!” Shar’s grin was wide. She came back and hugged him. “I’m so glad you finally built it. Thank you for showing her to me before you go.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Indris said. He reached into his over-robe and took out the wind key, which he gave to Shar. “She’s yours.”

  Shar looked at Indris, then at Mari, then back at Indris. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in surprise. Then she clutched the key to her chest and did a shaky pirouette of joy. Indris removed a small plate from the side of the vessel. Beneath was inscribed the wind-boat’s name in Seethe: Shar-fer-rayn. The Dawn Skylark.

  “It was always for you, my friend,” Indris said, sad for their parting now that it was so immediate. “For years we’ve been companions, friends, and when we’ve both needed it, lovers. When things were dark, your lightness saved me from the worst of myself. You deserve to fly, Shar. For everything you’ve done, and for all you are to me, please accept her as your own.”

  “Oh…” Shar showered Indris with kisses, then Mari.

  They stayed together, sheltered from the wind, reminiscing about all they had seen and done. Indris retrieved a bottle of wine, and bowls, from the Wanderer. Together they drank and laughed at Omen’s fey strangeness, took pride in Ekko’s limitless courage, and smiled at Hayden’s rural manners and his fatherly concern. When the last bowl had been emptied, they smashed the bottle, and the porcelain bowls.

  “Can I come and see you?” Shar asked.

  “Of course!” Mari replied. “You’re part of our family, Shar.”

  “I love you both, you know,” Shar said. “More than anybody I can remember.”

  “And we you,” Indris said. “This is farewell, Shar. Not good-bye.”

  Shar stepped back as Indris and Mari boarded the Wanderer. Indris went to the pilot’s station and ignited the Disentropy Spools. The wind-galley thrummed with life. The Tempest Wheels started to spin, giving off a snap and crackle, and the Wanderer rose into the air. Indris circled the skydock, where Shar was waving her arms madly in farewell. He smiled, and set course northward to somewhere warm.

  Indris watched Mari stride along the beach. The day was sunny, the waves crashing on the shore, the seas flecked with whitecaps. It was the first day of winter, but the northernmost beaches of Tanis were warmer than Shrīan, and a far cry from the freezing oceans that chilled Tamerlan.

  He had told Mari what had happened to him: his Awakening and his brief glimpse of Unity. Of his origins, or as much as he knew of them. Indris tried to gauge her reaction, but Mari’s face was still. She had told Indris she was going for a walk. There was no invitation in her words, and Indris made no move to impose on her thoughts.

  It was a lot for her to hear, on top of the grief she carried. There had been neither hostility nor anger nor judgment. Only the kind of silence that came from shock, and the need to think about a response. Indris did not know what he would do if she decided that she wanted to return to Shrīan. Those were worries best left until they were real rather than imagined. But the thought of losing her caused his chest to ache.

  Indris went back into the house and ignited the firestones to take the edge off the chill. Hoods came off ilhen lamps, painting the wooden floors and stone walls in a drowsy parchment glow. It was a simple place of sandstone and wood, the walls mainly shuttered windows to let the breeze flow through. A central room passed for a Hearthall, three bedchambers, a bath, studio, and an armory, long empty. It had been some time since Indris had been here, longer since there had been guests. At the back of the house was a large room with a veranda that overlooked the cane fields, a fruit plantation in the distance. Wind sent ripples through the grasses, and clouds to the south promised a storm.

  He went to the armory. One wall was covered by an empty weapon rack, another wall with a rack for armor. There was a pedestal in the center. Indris raised his eyebrows at how large the room was. How much war can one man make?

  With sure hands he hung his storm-pistols and his dragon-tooth knife. The Scholar’s Lantern dimmed as he rested it on the wooden pegs, barely a flicker in her depths, the glyphs on the stave dull. He took Changeling from his sash, and the weapon purred loudly: something it had done since Fandra, when it had ascended, and became a soul blade. Another thing I’ve no idea how I did. Or did I know, and Changeling helped me remember? Indris was tempted to ignite the weapon, to see the spectral blade of starlight, but did not. Instead he rested her on the pedestal, where she crooned in curiosity.

  “We’ve come a long way, you and I,” Indris murmured to her. “And I suspect we’ve some way to go before we’re done. But for now, I need to walk without death at my side, if only for a little while.”

  Indris left and closed the door behind him.

  He went to the front of the house, down the stairs, and sat in the sand. Mari walked the shore, crouching from time to time to pick up seashells. She brushed the hair out of her face and waved to Indris. After a long moment of stillness, Mari closed the distance between them and sat beside him on the sand: not touching, but not far away. They said nothing as they both stared out across the Deep Salt, an undulating expanse unbroken from the beach, to the horizon.

  “What’s out there?” Mari rested her chin on her knees, her fingers raking patterns in the sand.

  “Questions. Answers,” he said. “The past.”

  “D
ragons?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But we don’t need any of those right now, do we?”

  Indris turned his gaze away from the horizon, to the woman who held his hearts sitting right beside him. He smiled at her. She smiled back, and moved a little closer.

  “No,” Indris said, and meant it. “There’s nothing we need right now, other than what we have.”

  Even if it’s only for a little while.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Indris

  Avān. Pahmahjin-Näsarat fa Amon-Indris, formerly a knight of the Sēq Order of Scholars and now a daimahjin, a mercenary warrior-mage. Once commanded the Immortal Companions’ nahdi company. Also known as Dragon-Eyed Indris; Indris, Tamer of Ghosts; and Indris, the Prince of Diamonds. Bears the mind blade, Changeling.

  Ekko

  Tau-se. Former Knight-Colonel of the Lion Guard First Company. Commanded the expedition to retrieve Far-ad-din after his escape. Now a kombe, travels with Indris.

  Hayden Goode

  Human. Deceased. Killed by Erebus forces in the Dead Flat.

  Sassomon-Omen

  Nomad. Deceased. Destroyed by Erebus forces in the Dead Flat.

  Shar-fer-rayn

  Seethe. War-chanter of the Rayn-ma troupe, reputed to be the last surviving member of her family.

  Met Indris in the slave pits of Sorochel, from which they escaped together. Now travels with Indris.

  Great House of Näsarat

  Ariskander

  Avān. Deceased. Avān. Former Rahn of Näsarat Prefecture and Prefect of Narsis. Murdered by Corajidin.